


Life Lessons

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:00:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Life is full of lessons, seemingly simple ones, but ones you neglect at your own risk.  For example:1.Good Help Is Hard To Find: Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins2.Listen To Instructions: Constable Ben Miller, Base Commander, Major Kevin Richards3.Be A Good Influence: Kevin Richards, Craig Garrison4.Don't Believe Everything You Hear: Constables Ben Miller and Deek Summers5.Lend A Hand To A Friend in Need: Alex Ainsley, Craig Garrison and others6.Read The Instructions Twice, Then Read Them Again: Craig Garrison, Major Kevin Richards7.Do Not Covet: Alice Miller and Sheila Riley and two overeager young ladies8.Don't Assume: A Man of Destiny and the Dragon9.Who Must Do The Difficult Thing?  The One Who Can.  Meghada O'Donnell10. Sometimes It's Hard To See The Forest For The Trees:Meghada O'Donnell





	1. Good Help Is Hard To Find

**Author's Note:**

> Fairly short pieces, taking place over a broad span of time, both during the war and after, most involving many of the usual characters, either in person or by mention. At least one or two spoilers, but only if you haven't been paying attention. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins really hated the interviewing of new guards for the Mansion. He gave them the talk, explained it all quite clearly, he thought, but when questioning them to be sure they understood, well, that didn't seem to go so well. Take this last one . . .

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins really hated this part of the job, the interviewing of new guards for the Mansion. It wasn't that it was a hard duty; it wasn't. It was just that it involved a certain 'flexibility', a quality he'd found rather hard to come by in the rank and file of the ones sent to him to fill his quota. He gave them the talk, explained it all quite clearly, he thought, but when questioning them to be sure they understood, well, that didn't seem to go so well. Take this last one . . .

"So, Private, the men under Lieutenant Garrison's command, they tend to get bored sometimes, and they head out that window in the library and into town. Usually The Doves. Now when you see them . . ." Rawlins prompted.

The response was quick and eager, "I shoot them, right??!"

Gil sighed, "no, Private, you don't shoot them. This is a special unit, being sent across the way to do special missions. We need them to keep doing those missions, so we want to keep them alive. Understand? No, you let me or the Lieutenant know they left and at what time; you alert the gate as well, so they can be on watch for when they come back, though they don't always come that way," and though he got a firm nod, he had his doubts. 

"Now, there's four of them. Actor, Casino, Chief and Goniff. Actor's the tall one, sounds foreign, Italian to my way of thinking. 'e's a toff; wears a fancy neckcloth when 'e can, smokes a pipe, reads a lot. You'll find 'im in the library quite a bit when they're 'ere. When you find im there . . ."

"I can shoot him, right???!"

Gil inhaled deeply, "no, Private. You ignore im. 'e's allowed in the library, allowed to borrow whatever e wants from there." 

"Now, Casino, 'e's the loudest. Plays cards, maybe dice, in the Common Room 'ere, maybe down at The Doves; 'e and the small one, that's Goniff, will most likely get into a quarrel, a set-to of some kind; it's just what they do; don't pay that any mind; they do the same most anywhere, mean little enough by it. Casino will just as likely get into a card game with some of the locals, maybe some from the Base, though that's as likely to end up in a brawl as anything else. When that 'appens, you need to. . ."

"Shoot him, right???!"

Gil really wanted to bang his head against a hard surface, anything to end this nightmare. "NO! Private, you will call me, or the Lieutenant; otherwise you will stay out of it!"

He shook his head, "now, Chief, 'e pretty much stays out of trouble. A dab 'and at darts. Needs to be near a window, will open any in the room 'e's in, and NO, Private, you can't shoot im for doing so! 'e also usually 'as a knife on 'im, in 'is arm sheath or out in 'is 'and more likely, and that's alright too. 'e's allowed. Do NOT shoot 'im for it!"

The annoyed look on the Private's face was starting to turn to a sullen frown.

"Goniff, now 'e's the only Englishman, Cockney. Nicks anything not nailed down, especially if it's shiny or sparkly, cheeky devil, climbs like a squirrel but can fall over lint on the floor, can look as innocent as a four year old while 'e's picking your pocket. Most likely 'e'll stick with the others, but if not, 'e'll be headed down to one of the cottages. Let 'im go; 'e'll come back or one of us will fetch 'im; we know where 'e is."

"One of the cottages? One of the locals? Surely he's not allowed that? Better to shoot him, Sir!" and Gil Rawlings groaned out loud.

"Dismissed, Private," and called out to Private Jenkins, "send in the next one, if you would," knowing this one would probably come no closer to what he needed.

Private Jenkins stuck his head in the door. Sympathetically he said, "that was the last of this bunch. No luck, sir?"

"No, no luck."

"Well, working with this lot, it takes someone a bit different, you know," and the Sergeant Major nodded, with a deep sigh.

He turned, a puzzled look on his face, "Private Jenkins, you managed it, dealing with these men, you, Private Perkins too, and you do it quite well, enough I've been impressed by it. 'ow did you do it? Why can't these others manage it?"

"Well, sir, I don't rightly know. Just, these, they're good lads, no matter what else they are," came the earnest answer.

And was surprised by the weary smile crossing his noncom's face, "that they are, Private, and so are you. Maybe that's what it takes; being able to see that in each other."

And Private Jenkins hesitantly bringing the name of his younger brother to his attention, one newly joined the ranks, well that was the highlight of the Sergeant Major's day. Hopefully he could finally get that open slot in his guards filled with someone who might actually work out! He could count on Jenkins to show the lad the ropes, and without shooting anyone!


	2. Listen To Instructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of "Just A Quiet Friday Night At The Pub", Constable Ben Miller explains to the new commander at the base about the Mansion and the Cottage. When the commander is taken aback by the Constable's position, that "your men just don't listen to instructions", he calls on Major Kevin Richards for support. What he gets in return from his old friend surprises him more than a little; well, once Major Richards stops laughing, that is.

"Now, Commander, I know how it looks."

"Constable Miller, I've had an ambulance drag one or MORE of my men back to this base three times out of the past four weeks, and I've only been in command for four weeks! All from your village. It looks bad, that's how it looks," came in hard tones from the rigid, straight backed man at the desk.

A calm, soothing, but firm, almost fatherly voice explained, "well, I can see that. But, Commander, you have to understand. Your men, they just don't listen well; they need to take better heed, perhaps need better instruction when they first come on base; maybe a few reminders now and again, your officers included."

Miller made a point of ignoring the incredulous look on the Commander's face at this small village constable taking him to task.

"Now, take the O'Donnell girl. They've been warned. She don't take kindly to visitors or those trying to make advances, she don't, and surely that's her right. We try to warn your men off, those at the pub try to warn them off. Even those of your own people who know what's what try to give them the wink. Still they show up and try it on. Now, some, when she tells them flat out to take it elsewhere, they do the sensible thing and go look elsewhere. But, seems every time you get a new shipment of men in here, it starts all over again. Someone always shows up at the pub, at her cottage, trying to convince her. Some of the fools actually look at it as a challenge! Miss O'Donnell, well, she don't 'convince'; she just gets bloody mad, and then it's the ambulance again."

"If it's not her, it's your men trying to cause trouble with the locals, or the men from The Mansion; a Special Forces team they are, Lieutenant Craig Garrison's team, and good lads, we've found them to be, no matter what's said about them. Boisterous, a bit, but good lads ne'er the less. Something gets broke, they pay for it, which, begging your pardon, don't happen when it's your lot that does the breaking!" Constable Miller was taking the opportunity to air a few old grievances; who knew when he'd get another chance!

Somehow, this was not how the new Commander had intended, or expected this interview to go, and he wasn't sure just when he had lost control, or how.

"Garrison's men come down to the pub for a pint, maybe some darts, some cards, a bit of a chat up with the local girls. Your men play fair with them, don't try to make trouble, it all usually stays pretty quiet, or at least no real harm done. They won't stand for someone trying to take one of them down, though, or aught else; they stick up for each other. That last set of yours, them trying to cosh one of the team for beating them at darts and drag him out back to deliver a pounding, well, no way that was going to stand."

"My Lieutenant ended up with a broken nose!"

"Yes, he did, and Lieutanant Garrison was right sorry that was necessary, but he won't let his men be taken advantage of either, and surely that only makes sense! What use are they to him when he needs them on a mission if they're laid up from a pub fight or a beating from someone bothered by losing fairly at a game of darts??! And if he hadn't done it, the other men would have done it, or the girl would have; she was there, and right pissed off she was about it too, her having a fondness for the lads!"

"Wait, you mean the man who took down my Lieutenant . . ."

"Was a Yank Lieutenant himself? Yessir, he is that, and in charge of the team, and right handy with his fists too, he is, when needs be."

The Base Commander was feeling the start of a migraine coming on.

"And the girl, this Miss O'Donnell?"

"Well, you might want to check with Major Kevin Richards, up in London, about Miss Meghada O'Donnell; some call her the Dragon, some the Ice Queen, though that last seems more than a little rude, just cause the lass likes to keep herself to herself."

The Commander raised his brows, recognizing that name or one strangely similar to it, wondering suddenly about a few other things as well.

"I think you might find she has a place with Special Forces as well, though of course I don't know that official-like, me just being a simple village constable you know."

He ignored the skeptical look he was getting from the Colonel at that statement. Somehow the new Base commander doubted any 'simple village constable' would have backed him into a corner as easily as this man had done.

"Like I said, not a lass you really want to try and push up against a wall and tell her to drop her drawers and bend over, like your Major Conners tried! And to drop a hint, Colonel, none of our other lasses are likely to respond too well to such either, and frankly neither would the rest of the village, myself included should that happen. Your men need to learn better manners before they come visiting."

Colonel Anderson tried to subdue the groan he felt coming.

"Very well, Constable Miller. I'll look into all of this. Just, I'd appreciate it if we could keep the mayhem to a minimum!"

He was rather disconcerted with the steady intelligent grey eyes looking straight into his, and the slightly disgusted response of "aye, well, I'd appreciate that too, Colonel. Hope you can see to it your men live up to that! It'd be nice to have a peaceful Saturday night for a change, and now it spilling over to Fridays as well! Wife and I haven't been able to finish our card game for the past six weeks!"

***Kevin Richards, with his own take, when the new commander comes to him for advice after that conversation

"Joe, you left a message for me to call you. It's good to hear from you! How are you settling in? What can I help you with?" Kevin Richards asked, only to have his somber mood quickly change to something much different. He listened, he sipped at the whiskey he'd reached into the bottom drawer of his desk to retrieve after the first few sentences. Then, he snickered. He couldn't help himself.

"He did what? He told her WHAT? To drop her drawers and bend over?? Such elegance, such finesse! And from one of my own rank, at that! Joe, just tell me, this Major of yours, is he still breathing? Does he have all his parts still attached??" And then he let out the laugh he'd been fighting to keep inside. Finally, as he wiped his streaming eyes, and Joe Anderson, Colonel Joe Anderson, newly appointed Base Commander of the Base near Brandonshire, an old friend, said in a rather tight voice, "if you have quite finished, Kevin?"

Kevin Richards swallowed, and said, in a strained voice, trying to keep the laughter from starting up again, "yes, Joe, sorry. It's just, we're not talking about some little village miss, though I doubt that approach will sit well with them either, though I'll admit I've never tried it. You have to understand, this is one of the most capable contract agents I've ever had the somewhat mixed pleasure of managing. She is no more amenable to nonsense than any other of her Clan we have helping us. Joe, she doesn't 'drop her drawers' for anyone, not that I've ever known of and certainly not on demand by some stranger! I really don't see why your chaps keep trying; she makes it quite clear she's not interested. No, I mean it, she's bloody well NOT INTERESTED! Her file gives her the nickname of 'Ice Queen', and for good reason. I'd be curious as to the man she finally IS interested in; seems he'd have to be something rather out of the ordinary. But make no mistake, SHE'LL be doing the choosing, and it won't bloody well be someone who pushes her up against a wall and tells her to 'drop her drawers'!" And he started again, laughing.

When he stopped, Joe started telling him about the rest of the conversation with Ben Miller, about Garrison and his crew.

"Well, similar situation, in an odd sort of a way, Joe. Those men, well, I admit I rather discounted them in the beginning, what with their backgrounds and all, but I've been out there with them, Joe, in the thick of things and under fire; they're damned good, you know, and they get the job done with a better percentage of success than most any other team out there. No, Garrison won't stand for them being hurt, taken advantage of."

He listened, then, "yes, Joe, I admit I was rather skeptical of that, myself; him, an officer, being emotionally attached, caring about them on a personal level, but Joe? It works, seems to be part of what makes them a team, makes them successful, and that's what counts, isn't it? He cares about them, and they care about him too. They've brought him back from a couple of missions where he wouldn't have made it back on his own; times there was speculation whether they wouldn't just leave him there and take off for some neutral country to sit out the war. No, the committment goes in both directions, and it is very, very real. I'd not mind seeing some of that in a couple of our other teams; think we might find it beneficial."

He listened again as Joe explained what else Miller had said, about the connection, and that made him frown, and heave a deep sigh, "well, I'd be happier without there being a connection there, but it makes sense. Non-reg, her and Garrison's team; both Special Forces, same base village; I guess it's only logical they would make a connection. And Miller's right; if there is a connection, yes, she'd lay in on the side of the team against any others if there was need, and that would end up one bloody mess, literally!"

"I have to say, Miller has the right of it, Joe. Your men, they need to think more clearly about what they are doing, be given more guidance. The local villages aren't their personal playgrounds, and I don't think your predecessor ever truly understood that, or even wanted to. Came in with an attitude that the Americans were coming in as our saviors and they could have, could take whatever they wanted because of that. Made amazingly few friends that way, I can tell you. That's part of the reason he's gone and you're there, not that anyone would have necessarily told you that. I've never known poking a stick into a hornet's nest to do anyone any good."

They ended the conversation and Kevin took another sip. "Bend over and drop your drawers???!" and the laughter poured out once again. His aide eventually stuck his head in the door, "are you alright, sir??!" wondering as he saw his usually stiff faced, stern boss sitting there, sipping whiskey, now chuckling to himself, his face red, his eyes streaming with tears of laughter, wondering if he dared share this conversation with Garrison.

Colonel Joe Anderson pondered a bit more about his faint recollection of that name, the addition from Richards of the designation 'Clan', bringing things to the foreground of his mind he hadn't thought of in years.


	3. Be A Good Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rebuking comment from Major Kevin Richards, Craig Garrison and the others reflect - there are many times in life when you and your actions influence others. Whether that is a GOOD influence or a BAD, well, sometimes that depends on your point of view.

Major Kevin Richards picked up the phone and listened, his face going from distracted to pained. A loud groan traveled over the line, "well, didn't anyone try to stop it? No, no, of course not; matter between two officers, yes, yes, of course. Never mind, I'll be right there!"

He wondered to himself as he hurried out, just what could have set the usually level-headed American Lieutenant off to this extent, a boxing match against fellow American Lieutenant Kenneth Langston. From what he'd just heard, this wasn't some friendly little sparring match, this was all out war! He had already hit the button for the lift when he realized he'd have been better off for taking a fast shot at that whiskey bottle he kept tucked away just for such situations. He felt he was going to need the reinforcement. Well, at least the Dragon wasn't involved this time; that was something to be thankful for!

Yes, Kevin Richards thought to himself, war it was, and it looked like Garrison was bound and determined to win. No, he had to admit, it looked more like he was bound and determined to annihilate his opponent. Garrison had taken some damage; there was a nasty cut over one eye that dripped blood, and his lip was split and his jaw bruised and swelling. That was nothing compared to what Langston was showing, however, and from the look in Garrison's ice cold green eyes, wasn't anything compared to what additional damage he intended to inflict. There wasn't a hint of protective gear in sight, and somehow Richards thought Garrison would have been even happier without the boxing gloves, just using his bare fists.

Richards looked around for any of Garrison's team and found them all, along with the Dragon, watching intently, their gaze no warmer than Garrison's. He sighed when he saw the little pickpocket had his arms wrapped firmly around the Dragon who was standing in front of him, but with the look on their faces, Richards wasn't sure if it was an inappropriately public show of affection, or whether Goniff was restraining the young woman from either intervening or maybe just helping Garrison beat the snot out of Langston. Though he admitted, Heaven knows, if she'd wanted to get free of the Cockney's arms, she surely could have; Richards had just never seen her seem to want to.

Kevin was trying very hard to stop interferring in her private affairs; at least, that's what she called it. He called it trying to protect her, trying to reason with her, trying to get her to show some common sense, but he had to admit she wasn't accepting his terminology, had occasionally gotten rather pissy about it, in fact.

He made his way over to them, asking them curiously but without open challenge in his voice, "would someone please inform me as to the reason for this little exhibition? Garrison seems rather perturbed."

Casino snorted, his eyes never leaving the ring, "perturbed - is that a fancy word for pissed off? Yeah, I guess ya could say he's 'perturbed'."

Actor sighed, also keeping his eye on the action, "we encountered Lieutenant Langston in the hallway, when we were admittedly not at our best, Major. We'd been gone for almost two weeks and were exhausted; we'd just gone through a lengthy debriefing prior to and during which not even coffee was made available to us. WE wanted a shower, fresh clothes, medical attention, something to eat, and a quick return to the Mansion and our beds. HE wanted a direct confrontation, it seems, though we have had no interaction with him previously, and no reason we could see to endure one now. He elected to speak his mind rather more freely than was perhaps wise, and on subjects he was hardly in a position to be offering an opinion. It is perhaps difficult to say which of us was more offended by his remarks, but the Lieutenant elected to be the one to take Langston to task. The boxing ring is perhaps a more formal setting than anyone else might have chosen, but he thought it appropriate with them both being officers of the same rank."

Richards now had his eyes glued to the ring and the increasingly wavering and stumbling Langston, "should I ask?"

Actor hesitated, and Richards added, "if that all happened in public, you know I'll hear some version of it later. Do you want to risk that without telling your side of it?"

"Better go ahead; he'll just hear some shit later, and probably nothing like what really happened," Casino muttered.

Richards was seriously considering stopping the slaughter in the ring; Langston was stumbling now, but Garrison wasn't easing up in the slightest, delivering punishment with a singlemindedness that really had to be admired, though he found himself wincing at that last heavy blow to the stomach. 

Actor seemed to be groping for words, which was unlike the eloquent con man. "I am not sure if it was the inference that the Lieutenant had used the team to pull off the well publicized bank robbery in Devon last month or the one in Brookstone the month prior, or the rather detailed slur against the entire team, the one implying we were not really accomplishing our missions but simply disappearing for our own ends and coming back and filing false reports, or maybe the description of just what activities the Lieutenant was engaging in with both Goniff and Chief and possibly Casino and myself, plus the 'obvious' carnal connection of the entire team with Meghada, or the claiming she was either a totally inadequate woman in that she was unable to satisfy the Lieutenant without him resorting to the 'others', meaning us, or that we" that getting a snort from the little Englishman and a dour look along with a grim mutter of "you mean ME", with Actor continuing as if there had been no interruption, "were individually unable to satisfy HER without help from the others, or the final supposition that perhaps Meghada isn't a woman at all, but a man pulling off a rather elaborate masquerade all this time. He suggested she strip right then and there so he could check. He made a similar suggestion regarding Chief and Goniff, but for other reasons I would presume. I do wonder, Major, if the good Lieutenant perhaps has a death wish or is sampling some of the more dangerous drugs out on the streets; any one of those comments would have served as an annoying taunt, but to combine them all in one rather disjointed tirade was quite a tour-de-force of self-destructive behavior."

Richards now understood the punishment being delivered, and was relieved when Garrison finished it with one smashing blow to Langston's jaw, sending the other man into a heap in the middle of the ring.

"Excuse us, Major; we need to collect our gallant defender," and they were gone, the whole lot of them, climbing into the ring, urging the young blond officer to a stool at the side, Actor checking his injuries, Goniff fetching water and the first aid kit, the others hovering but watching for any new trouble that might come their way from the various onlookers, more than a few who were muttering at the outcome. 

Richards was a little concerned when he saw Meghada wasn't with them but was standing over the fallen Langston, studying him rather appraisingly. He hurried to join her.

"Meghada? Do I want to know what you're thinking?" he asked uneasily.

She turned her head slowly to look at him and gave him a very grim smile, "probably not, Kevin. It's not at all civilized," and he nodded. No, he rather thought it wouldn't be.

"You know, I'm not so sure you and the men are a good influence on Garrison. He seems to have rather exceeded the limits of what an officer and a gentleman might do," staring down at Langston, or what was left of him, in turn.

Meghada shook her head at him reprovingly, "now you know that's not true, Kevin. He defended his honor, our honor most vigorously, yes, but surely that is exactly what an officer and a gentleman WOULD do against such a wide variety of accusations; moreover, he did it in a fashion and in a location an officer and a gentleman would favor. Myself, I would have perhaps elected for a less formal setting, somewhat less overlooked, perhaps with a more decided conclusion, but then, that's just me," with a smile that sent chills up his spine. 

"But, Kevin, I do think Lieutenant Langston showed a remarkable lack of intelligence, and certainly a lack of restraint or common sense. Just where do you think the Americans are getting their officers these days? Perhaps he's of one of those religions that handles poisonous snakes in their church services; that would perhaps explain his actions today, thinking to brace a team just back from a mission with that sort of stupidity."

At a quick word from the team, she turned and joined the men escorting the hero of the day from the ring and out of the area. 

Richards turned at the clearing of the throat, "sir, what do you want us to do about this? Are there charges to be placed?"

Richards raised a weary brow. "The last I heard rank stupidity isn't a courtmartial offence, at least not unless connected to our overall mission. No, just take the Lieutenant to the medical unit for treatment, and tell him to report to me when he is released. I believe we need to have a little chat."

The MP looked at him, "no, sir, I meant about the other one, Lieutenant Garrison. Any charges there?" to get an incredulous look from the British Major.

"What charges could there possibly be? I can certainly think of none. It was a fair fight, instigated by Lieutenant Langston, rather unwisely it would appear. We hardly can charge Lieutenant Garrison for being the better fighter, now can we?"

Later, Meghada shared Richards' comment ruefully, "he thinks we are a bad influence on you, Craig," and that got assorted snorts and laughs from around the room. The bruised and bloodied Garrison started to follow suit, but his swollen lip discouraged that. He contented himself with a fond look around the room, lingering perhaps on his pickpocket and their Dragon.

"An influence, most certainly, though I take exception to his calling it a 'bad influence'." 

Later, at the Cottage, "thing is, 'e might be right, Craig, I mean, bout us being a bad influence on you. Aint like you, letting yourself be goaded, you pushing Langston into a fight like that, and let's face it, you didn't just win, you beat the shit out of 'im."

The wiry pickpocket was settled in one of the big easy chairs in Meghada's sitting room, leaning forward, forearms resting against his thighs, cradling the glass of bourbon in his hands. He'd been searching that glass like it held answers, but with a sigh, switched his troubled gaze to the green eyes of Craig Garrison, realizing that was where any answers lay.

Garrison gave a wry smile, "I like to think I'd do the same, defend, fight like that for anything I believed in that strongly, Goniff. It's just . . ." He frowned slightly and licked his lips, thinking about what he'd realized all over again, something that was still somewhat of a surprise to him each time it surfaced.

"Just what, Craig?" came softly from the opening to the kitchen. He glanced up at Meghada, all pink and warm and glowing from that hot shower she'd finally been allowed after that long, overly long meeting at the village assembly hall; she still wasn't sure why she'd be asked to attend, or for that matter, why it had been necessary to call a meeting about Christmas festivities when it was only May, but she was trying harder to become a viable member of the village, though admittedly more for the guys' sake than for her own. After all, the more influence she had, the more she could exert it on their behalf. 

"I admit I haven't been in many real bloody fights like that, in the ring I mean, but then, there hasn't been all that much that was important enough, personally, to take that kind of a stand. Now, well, now there is. All the things he said . . . . We're doing an important job, doing our best, and doing it better than a hell of a lot of others could do. You and the guys, you're going out there, risking your lives, getting hurt, to get it done, and to hear him say that, that we were just laying up somewhere safe, faking the reports, it pissed me off." He was up and pacing now, what little you could pace in the small sitting room, running his hand through that gold blond hair.

"And bringing in those bank jobs! Hell, Meghada, I know the guys get up to some stuff on the side, but not here, except for 'light fingers' over there," sparing a faint glare for the small man watching the show, who had the decency to pinken slightly, "'snaffling' some trifle I have to retrieve for the disgruntled owners. I have their word for that, and I believe it. You, I admit I don't know all you get up to, and I figure I'm better off that way, and anyway, I'm not really responsible for you." That got a faint chuckle from Meghada and Goniff both.

"And the rest? Since when are we, personally, any of their damned business? I just wish they'd all come up with someone else to fantasize about! That's how I got him into the ring, you know, taunting him about him being so busy visualizing all he was talking about, letting himself get all worked up, instead of hiring a professional to help him with his little 'problem'. You know, I was just a little bit tempted back there. . ." flushing slightly, looking at Meghada, who raised her brows in question.

"To let him try what he said, you know? Try to make you, and Goniff and Chief strip down right there in the hallway. But I figured I'd just get the bill for cleaning what was left of him off the tile, and walls, and ceiling. AND have to bail all of you outta the Stockade." 

He was grinning just a bit now, and similar grins were on the other two faces. "I also didn't appreciate his implying we were all just like Lord Evering and his randy little group!" And he flushed deeply this time. "And I damned well didn't like the inference that ANY of us was 'inadequate' to satisfy whoever we WERE with!" and Meghada laughed at the thought.

"No, 'inadequate' isn't a word I'd use, not for you, or Goniff, or myself for that matter. And if there's any lack of satisfaction around here, I've not noticed it," and that grin was absolutely wicked now. "Sometimes I think it's a good thing we have blackout shades, or Jerry would spot all the 'afterglow' from the cockpit of their bombers and mistake Brandonshire for London!" The laugh that followed eased any remaining tension, and they spent the rest of their time, what precious little of it they had before the two men were due back at the Mansion for the next briefing, proving all that all over again.


	4. Don't Believe Everything You Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Constable of Maidstone is about to find out, information is only as reliable as the source of that information, and relying on the wrong source can lead you wildly astray. Here, Constable Ben Miller of Brandonshire sets him straight.

"Ei, Ben, missed you at darts the other evening! Maybe next Friday night?"

"Perhaps, Deke, perhaps. I'd like to, but things get troublesome sometimes, though usually it's more Saturday night when the men from the Base come avisiting. Think I age a good five years when that happens! And last Friday??! Had to be ten years, at least. At this rate I'll be a doddering old man by the time the war ends."

Deke Summers held out the bottle, lifting his eyebrows in question, getting a firm nod in return.

"Yes, thanks, that would hit the spot. Some Yank Major from the Base, makes a try for our Miss O'Donnell, her laying him out flat, to say the least, calling for a trip by the ambulance as usual. This was after four of theirs decide to take on the lads from The Mansion, and getting their heads handed to them right nicely, which meant the ambulance was here then too. Big Mike probably made a killing with that pool of his!"

Deke shook his head, in sympathy, "heard about that Miss O'Donnell of yours. Pity you can't send her on her way; shame she settled there and owns the property. Seems she's a real problem to the village, a tart of the lowest kind, always the men up at the cottage, always trouble," wondering a bit at the wide eyed stare and open mouth facing him across the table now.

"And where were you hearing this? Oh, don't tell me. Doby Clevens?"

At the firm nod, he gave a contemptuous snort, "one of these days I'm going to drop that man into a cell and forget to pull him out! Or maybe better, drop him gagged and tied hand and foot on an outbound train to Scotland, one way ticket! Miss O'Donnell? A tart? Not bloody likely!!! A finer lass you'll not find, though more than a bit peppery! Known her since she was not much more than a girl, you know? Yes, there's men show up at her cottage causing trouble, but ones she's given fair warning to stay away. Ones WE'VE given such warning also. She doesn't take kindly to visitors, never has, don't take to men thinking to make a move on her, OR the other women in the village without them being given a welcome, and has a mighty strong way of making her point! Don't let any inside her cottage except her family and a few, very few friends, my Alice and me being among those and proud to be so, I'll be telling you, Deke."

Deke Summers had an odd look on his face; somehow, this was all not what he had expected! His vision of some crude dockside trull was melting into a puddle. 

"Trouble, well, we have the ambulance down there whenever someone makes too determined a try, but don't think we can put that to her account, other than her pointing out their misconceptions, as it were. She could just drag them out into the road to bleed, you know, and has threatened it more than once, though she has never done that, even with that Yank bastard who came in with a pair of handcuffs to make his task easier," noting the dropped jaw on his friend Deke's face.

"Handcuffs???!"

"Aye, said he thought the lass should be grateful to him, can you believe it? And him an officer at that! Well, she showed him gratitude, coming into her cottage through a closed door she'd NOT opened to him, after she was already settled in her nightclothes, thinking to take whatever he wanted, her having turned him away at the Pub earlier in the week, and making no bones about it! Hate to think if he'd gone after one of the other women in the village, my Molly or my Alice maybe, one not as able to deal with him. Spoken to the Base Commander, I have, over and over about his men. Coming into Brandonshire, thinking they can do whatever, say whatever! Maybe you have it different here in Maidstone, being a bit further away, but with us, while most of the Yanks are alright, there's always some who think the lasses give it up freely, the drinks are watered down, and they're being cheated at cards! More trouble than the take, I'll tell you that!" with an annoyed shake of his head. 

Deke Summers was trying to regroup his previous conceptions, in the face of this strong rebuttal from his old friend. "And the men from that team up at the big house? They give you as much trouble as I've heard, or is that off as well?"

A snort, "Doby, again? Figures! They're boisterous lads, I'll admit that, but anything broken, gets paid for, which can't be said for the damages done by the men from the Base. The lasses aren't roughed up, or pushed to do aught they don't want to do; in fact, they're thought of quite kindly by most in the village. They have the best darts player around, and the best card players. When they play at cards, well, they cheat, but only when playing amongst themselves, and they all expect it! It's like it's part of their fun, you know? They keep it straight when there's others at the table, lest there's someone they're trying to teach a lesson, one who's a bit tricksy on their own. They play pranks on each other, and sometimes it gets noisy and more than a little silly. We don't begrudge them that."

"Those men, they're Special Forces, Deke. I don't know what they get up to across the way, but there's many a time one's missing from the table due to getting hurt, in hospital or up at the Mansion not able to get around. There's times the look in their eyes, well, I don't want to know what they've run into to get that look, Deke. All I know is that we should probably be bloody grateful to them! And I'll tell you, I for one, I am! They've helped put out the fires from the bombers, they've helped search for the tikes and oldsters who've wandered off."

"Them, them and the lass, well, they're the ones found out about and took down the Miggs family, you know, or maybe you didn't; they didn't want it all talked around too freely, and not many had the heart or stomach to talk about it anyway. Lord, all those bodies, lasses, lads, even tikes! thrown down into that mine shaft, all on top of each other, over so many years! Without those lads and the woman, you have to wonder just how many more bodies would have ended up there; how many more would have gone missing from around here. Some of those bodies were from Maidstone, if I remember right, along with the lot from Brandonshire, and elsewhere."

"I'll tell you, Deke, I'd be pleased to have them stay, afterwards, the whole lot of them, and the rest of the village pretty much feels the same. And for someone like that weasel Doby to be telling his tales, making trouble, it just makes me boil, it does!"

Deke Summers nodded, thinking he'd just have a word with Doby Clevens next time the man made his way through Maidstone, spreading his poison. He rather agreed with Ben Miller, dropping him into a cell and forgetting him might just be the answer, though that one-way trip to Scotland had its own appeal. And maybe he needed to be asking Ben Miller for a bit of an intro, to the girl and Garrison and his men; seems like those he'd be wanting to know, would be worth the knowing.


	5. Lend A Hand To A Friend In Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you are in the position of being able to lend a hand to a friend; sometimes, you need a friend to do the same for you. It only works when everyone understand that, as Garrison's and Ainsley's teams soon discover. Of course, it's even more true now that HQ is starting to listen to the 'efficiency experts'; it's going to take friends sticking together if they want to survive that lovely little addition to the complications war always brings.

Sergeant Gil Rawlins listened to silence echo through the Mansion, the silence that hadn't bothered him in the beginning, but now that he knew the Lieutenant better, the men, well, seeing as how that silence meant they were off doing whatever HQ had sent them to do, now it bothered him. To his mind, HQ had an unlikely imagination and an even unlikelier level of ambition; he wondered grimly if they'd have been so enthusiastic if it were their own sons or brothers, or themselves they were sending out to perform such acts of daring-do. He felt it well enough when the team went out together; at least then he knew they WERE together, would do the best they could to be sure they all made it back. This time, though, the Lieutenant and Actor had been sent out together, from the maps they were going over so closely, almost as to memorize them, Rawlins thought most likely Norway was their destination. He knew the Lieutenant would have given the rest their instructions; in his mind he could almost hear the list of Do's and Don't in the young officer's voice, could see the looks on the remaining men's faces - Goniff at his most innocently obedient, Casino in his world weary 'Yeah, yeah, we heard it before, Warden', with Chief just listening, the stoic look hardly changing, not unless you knew him well enough to interpret the tiny muscle twitch under his jaw.

What Garrison had not anticipated was HQ, in their almighty wisdom, co-opting the remainder of the team to work with Ainsley, who was a working with a light team as well. Some bright boy, one of the periodic experts London brought in, had decided to rotate the Special Forces team members around; never having worked with a team in the field, under mission conditions, it made sense to this guy, though certainly not to anyone else.

Anyway, Evans, the safecracker from Ainsley's team, had been sent with, would you believe it, Garrison and Actor to Norway. Garrison had nothing against Evans, but railed at the idea of pulling in someone else when he could have easily have brought Casino, someone he was used to working with.

Carson was no specialist; he worked as Ainsley's generalist, and had been temporarily moved over to Cranston's team - no real explanation had been made, just the excuse that a generalist was of less use, and Cranston had an explosives expert who could train Carson to Ainsley's benefit. Ainsley was still scratching his head over that, had protested that as best he could; HE handled the explosives in the team, and Carson wasn't the one he'd have picked as a backup, seeing as how the man had the nervous habit of fiddling with things. {"Probably start tinkering with the stuff and blow us all to hell and back!"}

So now Alex Ainsley had himself, Jimmy Longuire (sharpshooter, navigator, procurement), Len Briggs (high-wire, climber, wheel man), and Tom Miller (also high-wire, some safe work, forger). Naturally, the mission he got landed with required someone who could handle part of all that, but also was going to require someone with very talented fingers. Surprisingly, while Tom Miller was a dab hand with a pen, he couldn't pick a pocket, or transfer anything worth a damn. The same bright boy suggested Goniff, from Garrison's team, and Ainsley leapt at the chance. However, remembering some of the stories Garrison had told about his little pickpocket, Ainsley requested the rest of Garrison's team as well, thinking they might be able to keep him out of collateral trouble, and somehow, even though he hadn't had great hopes, he was given them.

Still, he wasn't looking forward to going out with men he'd previously only worked with when Garrison was along; he'd heard too many stories about the men. It really solidified his mood when Miller broke his ankle at the last minute, tumbled into Chief at the top of the stairs in his fall, and took the young Indian down with him all the way to the bottom; and he was down a wheel man and a forger on a job that definitely required both of those!

HQ's total noncomprehension of his position, 'you'll just have to make do, dear boy!' had him shaking his head. Maybe he could have, but it would mean an entirely different plan, different contacts, and there was no bloody time for that! He reached out to Kevin Richards, intending to plead his case, only to find THAT worthy was somewhere else; if his Aide knew where, he wasn't saying; well, Ainsley couldn't really have expected him to if Richards was in the field, and if that was the case, it wouldn't have helped Ainsley to know anyway. Still, he took some small bit of comfort from the words Private Jeffrey Ames said, "I think I have someone who could do the job for you quite well. You say you have part of Lieutenant Garrison's team? Part of that idio. . . Sorry, sir. Part of Mr. Bellman's ideas, I suppose. Most imaginative, that gentleman is. Expect he works a lot of those little puzzles, you know, where you keep moving the pieces around til you make pretty patterns out of them all; has that sort of mind. Don't know it works all that well with people, but you'd not convince him of that, I suppose."

Ainsley snickered; Richards' Aide was sometimes a bit more outspoken than you'd expect from a Private in HQ, but was frequently right on target. Still, the half-promise, "either I'll get back to you, or someone will. Don't fret now; I imagine we can do nicely for you," and there was a slight hint of amusement in the young man's voice.

They were unloading their gear from the jeep when the second jeep rolled up. Casino had been swearing at the whole situation, but mostly bemoaning Goniff had run out of his air-sea-car-whatever-sickness herbs, predicting a very messy flight. Goniff wasn't even spatting back very much, dreading that very thing. He'd gotten used to depending on the herbs, dry form or tea, to keep him from spewing over everyone and everything, but that new private at the Mansion had mistaken them for some exotic tea, brewing up the last into a big double-batch and then dumping it down the drain after taking a sip, "nasty stuff! Musta gone bad!" He never did understand the looks of dismay he'd gotten from the whole team, but he did receive a strong reminder that the Mansion kitchen wasn't for him to go rummaging through, helping himself to whatever he saw! He also was now working in the Motor Pool, not the Mansion itself. The hope that a new supply would arrive before their next travels disappeared with that phone call from London, and they all groaned in anticipation!

Ainsley kept checking his watch; they were due to leave in less than fifteen minutes, and his faith in Private Ames was dwindling fast. Then, from down the way, a jeep came tearing up, spinning, coming to a screeching halt just far enough away that they didn't get caught in its dust. Two figures got out, the driver calmly claiming, "owe me ten pounds, you do. Told you I'd get us here in time, even with that idiot trying to give us grief," the grinning dark haired young man in simple trousers and jacket told his companion.

"Aye, well, so you did, little brother, though I imagine that guard at the gate will want to be having a few words with you about that garbage can you sent flying."

"Bloody fool wasn't getting that gate up fast enough, so I took the short cut," said the irrepressible young man with a laugh. Casino and Goniff looked at each other incredulously.

"Douglas?? 'Gaida?? W'at the ruddy 'ell . . .?"

Casino had a puzzled frown on his handsome face, "hey, kids. What're you doing here, seeing us off? Don't think the guys up at HQ are gonna like. . ." and he groaned, remembering Ainsley was waiting for two unknown and unnamed replacements, {"high-wire, forgery, wheel man - yeah, that could just be it!"}

Ainsley had barely enough time for the Dragon to introduce her brother Douglas. The young man explained in a breezy style, "I don't have a title, you know, have to make do with just my name. Forgery, driving, those are my specialties. Have some training in the high work; Goniff coached me some, you know, but it's not my strong point; I leave that to the two of them. Can do some of the fancy finger stuff, too, but my sister is the expert there, though our oldest sister is even better. Can handle a knife," pulling back his sleeves to show sheaths on both forearms, "Chief worked with me on that to brush up on what I already knew; he says I'm pretty good, not as good as he is, of course, but pretty good. Learned forgery from a couple of the Professor's students, well enough to suit your purposes we hope."

Ainsley looked questioningly at Meghada O'Donnell, the Dragon, only to see her pulling out a pouch from her jacket, extracting a small cheesecloth wrapped bundle the size of a marble, and the little Englishman letting out a relieved groan.

"Glory, 'ow'd you know??!"

She laughed fondly, "Gil told me about what that idiot had done. Put together a batch to take up to you, then got the call from young Jeffrey."

She smiled at him, taking Casino in as well, then over at Ainsley, "hope you don't mind us coming along, Alex. Think you'll find us moderately useful. Now, just how IS Chief? Is he badly hurt," to receive Ainsley's assurances, "no, just a wrenched shoulder, but he sure as hell can't be jumping out of an airplane today! Come on, we're being waved aboard. And no, I don't mind; I'm damned glad to have you both."

His voice lowered, "though, your brother, isn't he a little young for this sort of thing?" and she gave a slightly grim smile.

"In a perfect world, perhaps, Alex; but if you haven't noticed, this one we find ourselves in is rather less than perfect. I'd as soon he had backup he's worked with before, so I came along, and I imagine I can make myself useful in some small way as well."

Ainsley snorted; she was the best all round operative he'd worked with, had her specialities, of course, but did a remarkable number of things quite well. "Probably could have managed just with you," he started, only to get a rueful shake of her head.

"Forgery is a weakness, not a strength for me, not anymore. Smashed a shotglass in my hand, a hairline crack in the glass; can you imagine anything so foolish??! Sliced a few things that will only mend so far. Can still handle a gun and knife well enough, but a pen? I've lost that delicate touch you need for such things, though the fast-finger stuff I can do with my other hand. And he can handle any vehicle he's ever tried, and has nerves of steel in doing it."

They loaded, Goniff looking like a chipmunk with something tucked into his right cheek. Already he looked more relaxed. Casino leaned across Longuire to give her a hearty, "thanks, kid! You know how he gets!!" That drew out the questions, and Ainsley's team were kinda glad she'd thought of that too; they'd never flown with him before.

She was between Goniff and Briggs, and she felt the little pickpocket settle further down into his seat, sigh deeply and ease into a light dose. As she felt him drop his head to her shoulder, she glanced down and smiled to herself, not wanting to be anywhere else. Longuire and Briggs just looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief, remembering all they knew, or thought they knew about the Dragon.

Casino snorted and laughed, "I know, kinda like watching a canary and a crocodile snuggling up next to each other; gets me every time I see them do something like that!"

She roused him about twenty-five minutes before the jump signal, explaining to the others, "the herbs, they make you drowsy along with easing the twitchy stomach; it takes awhile to come around totally." She slid one hand to the side of his neck, holding a canteen in the other. "Come along then, laddie. Take a sip or two of water, and get yourself awake. We'll be leaving this tin can in a bit, and you'll need your wits about you then!" All that came in a soft voice, along with a warm smile and soft chuckle, and Casino just shook his head once again. He never would understand those two! Still, he supposed it didn't matter, as he watched his best friend roll his shoulders in a stretching motion and give the young woman a surprisingly intimate smile. The smile he got in exchange, well, that made more than just Casino uneasy; those smiles were what you'd perhaps expect from two lovers arising from a warm bed after an even warmer night, not from two people planning to jump out of an airplane behind enemy lines. Ainsley had watched the whole show with total disbelief; he was going to have some questions for Garrison when they met the next time.

Later Ainsley shared a couple of drinks with Garrison. "Kid drives like a fuckin maniac, you know?? Thought he was going to have us over the side of that mountain half a dozen times, but he never even blinked. Rest of us were wishing we'd asked for some of those dried weeds the Dragon brought for Goniff; I think I left my fingernails in the dash of that truck! Len heaved his guts out after we stopped; kid looked at him like 'what's wrong with you?' The Dragon just shook her head and laughs and tells him, "might wanna work on your S-curves, little brother; that last one was a trifle sloppy." He got all haughty and indignant, but you could see he was just fooling around with her; they work good together, AND with your guys. Ended up we had TWO safes to deal with, and not enough time for Casino to do both; he did the trickier one, she did the other just like that! Ran into a patrol, turned into a hand-to-hand, and he's good, Garrison. Not as good as Chief, not as good as her, but still damned good; didn't turn a hair. Both helped with the patching up on the way back; no one took much damage, but there's usually some, you know. And your guys, just like clockwork, though Goniff seemed a little smug after we got out the back way. You did say he has a tendency to go 'shopping' and I think he might have."

Garrison remembered that tinkling sound as he was opening the door to the Common Room earlier; it hadn't sounded familiar, so he rather thought Goniff just might have done exactly that. 

Ainsley shook his head, thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong, and Garrison commenserated with him, and with himself, and all the Special Forces leaders.

"What are we going to do about this Bellman? We've got to do something before he gets someone killed! This worked out, by the graces of Private Ames and his knowing the Dragon, but it's not always going to happen that way, you know that. Besides, she's not supposed to be running missions anymore; her contract is over and done, and Douglas, well, he's not UNDER contract and not likely to be from what I hear. We can't expect them to pull our fish out of the fire everytime HQ screws things up. We can't keep reducing our efficiency by moving people around, either. What we COULD use is an extra set of experts, not like Bellman, but a group we can call on in case of injuries - skills that can fill in. Yeah, we can go to the civilian force, to the prisons, even to the military, but it takes more than the skills, they need some decent training in the first place, AND the willingness to help."

Ainsley leaned back in his chair, took a long drag off his cigarette, "now there's a sensible idea! But, what do you bet HQ will just want to stick them in the field, make another team, not a backup." They huddled together over their drinks for a long time, discussing the options, the possibilities, and made up their minds to discuss the whole idea with a few people a little more clued in than Mr. Expert Bellman. And in a small compound outside Moorehead, the nucleus of such a group was formed; teachers rotated in and out, a dozen likely team members were brought in and trained. Some worked out and stayed; others didn't and departed, to be replaced by others. And if HQ was kept in the dark, well, they didn't have to know everything. Sometimes things just worked better than way.


	6. Always Read The Instructions Twice - Then, Read Them Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a submarine commander takes his orders too literally - 'bring back Garrison; he has vital information' - leaving the others stranded in occupied France? Well, as the commander said, "I was just obeying orders." It seems only right that Garrison takes the same tactic in bringing the guys back home again. "I just obeyed orders, Kevin. You told me to go home; I told her to take me home. You know what they say, 'home is where the heart is.'" One thing for sure, no one is ever going to just skim over those instructions again, and they're going to be damn sure no one else does either!

Garrison came to in a military hospital, to find himself alone, and no one very forthcoming with answers to his questions, in particular, as to the whereabouts of his guys. When he finally did get some answers, he was furious, but the report the sub commander filed was quite clear. "My orders were to bring back Lieutenant Garrison, that he had vital information needed in London immediately. There was no mention of his team; I could only assume there was a reason for my orders being worded in quite that way, so I carried out my orders to the letter. I retrieved Lieutenant Garrison, had my men keep the others back, and we departed. Yes, he did protest, but he was clearly suffering from a concussion; I couldn't be expected to override my orders based on his differing view." 

A quick call to Brandonshire, the Cottage soon had an equally irate Dragon arriving just as he was being released. The presence of a rather snooty British Major VanDyke didn't help matters, and when Meghada demanded information as to where the guys had been abandoned, she had her questions shut down, based on 'classified, need to know', along with protests of the rather inventive names she called the submarine captain; 'that's a rather harsh and inappropriate judgment, in my opinion!'

Before she could think of a perhaps more direct way to get him to answer her questions, Garrison stopped her gruffly. "Meghada, you need to just follow orders for once. Stop haranguing the Major and get me checked out of here and back home."

She gave him an unreadable look, but helped him into his jacket and out to the car. Then, once he was settled as comfortably as he was likely to be, she asked, "now what, Craig?" hoping, praying she knew what he was going to say, knowing what SHE was going to do, somehow, but wanting to know where he stood, not wanting to think of the deep betrayal if she was wrong.

He looked over at her, "we find them and we bring them home, of course. We bring them home."

And she looked at him, nodding, the tight tangle of chains within her loosening at his words, with a grim, "yes, that's exactly what we do." And suddenly she could breathe again, and think.

A fast stop at a safe house; a faster phone call; coffee and waiting til a knock at the door. A file, a murmured 'thank you!'. A weary Garrison lifted a inquiring brow, and sat up straighter at the folder placed in front of him. He flipped through it, "yes, that's it! How . . .?"

"A little safeguard after that last little fiasco. We're taught such lovely espionage skills, Craig, it's a shame to let them get rusty for lack of use," she told him with a very bitter grin. "All the mission files are backed up for security purposes; HQ just isn't aware of exactly how many times they are backed up."

"But you were going after that Major to get the information . . ." he paused, then grinned back, "just like they would have expected you to, of course. Meghada, I am very happy you are on our side."

She looked at him solemnly, "I will always be on your side, Craig, yours and Goniff's and Chief, and Casino and Actor. You are family; whose side would I be on, if not yours?"

Richards called the Mansion for Garrison once he'd heard the whole stupid, sad story - silence told him what he rather thought would be the case. A call to the Cottage came up empty as well. He sat back, poured himself a drink, and waited; there was really little else he could do.

**

They'd had little choice, really; all four of them had been wounded or injured to some degree. The partisans who had found them, well, it was hard to tell whether that silent crew were holding them to trade for some of their captured fellows, or holding for the arrival of their absent leader; even Actor could make out only maybe one word out of ten of their rather obscure dialect.

The guys had talked, keeping it very low, discussing their options, though there weren't many of those. Neither Casino nor Goniff were able to make it in an escape attempt, and Actor and Chief had firmly discarded the suggestion that they try to make it on their own, especially after Casino insisted they take their weapons, which for some reason the partisans had let them keep, just asking one loaded gun be left behind. Actor and Chief could almost hear those two shots, one following another, in their minds; their blood chilling, their rejection had been firm and determined. All would go home, or none.

Hearing a noise, raising their heads, there was a deep sigh of relief from the two able to do so.

"Well, it certainly took you long enough, Craig. Stop for tea?"

"I decided to take him on a tour of the local attractions; sorry for the delay," came from the redhead in the shadows.

"You guys ready to go home now?"

"With a little help, yes, most certainly."

And each of them was greeted, quietly, with gentle hands and voice. And Goniff woke from his dazed sleep to see two familiar faces, smiling at him, their hands on his shoulders, "let's go home, love." And he smiled back at them, and nodded just a bit.

Aftermath - same ole, same ole. Complaints to HQ garnered nothing unexpected, just a firm decision - the Commander had been acting within his orders, his discretion, unfortunate misunderstanding but fortunes of war, etc. Garrison gave Major Kevin Richards his decided opinion of that decision; Richards just listened, nodded, let the Lieutenant talk himself out.

When Garrison had wound down, Richards confided the reason for his visit in the first place. Noting their glasses were empty, he reached for the bottle as he said "I was sent here to give you, along with Meghada, a good chewing out for disobeying orders, Craig. Consider this the chewing out," as he poured another glass to whiskey for the two of them.

Craig huffed indignantly, and told Richards, "I obeyed the orders I was given; I was told to go home. I agreed that was the best course of action and did so. She obeyed orders; I told her to take me home and she did so. You know what they say, Kevin, home is where the heart is," glancing over to the window, now with a slight smile on his face. They walked over to see the guys bickering back and forth with Sergeant Major Rawlins at the firing range.

"Home is where the heart is." Richards heaved a deep sigh, and nodded. Yes, he was beginning to understand that.

"What about Captain Nelson? Do I need to warn you off him?"

"No, Kevin," the redhead had responded with a deep sigh. "You were there when we discussed this. He's not malicious; he had no grudge against them. He is simply traditional military, which in some cases is merely another term for educated but stupid. He read his orders, he interpreted them precisely, without the input of any intelligence or savvy, and carried them out precisely without any concern for the human element. He made no attempt to question the orders or his understanding, because he's been taught not to. He still has no concept of what we could possibly think he did wrong. However, I can tell you this, he should not be in a position of having to think independently; he simply doesn't have the capacity for it. He should not be in a position of having lives depend on him; I pity any who might do so. And if you try to have him part of any mission for me, the guys or the teams, I suggest you go over his orders with a fine tooth comb and have a good sitdown, because if anything like this happens again I will not be so understanding - with him OR with you. I hope I have made myself clear?"

"Yes, my dear, perfectly clear."

It was more than a month later, the USS Corinthian had just picked up Ainsley and his men from a mission off the coast of Norway. It had been in the plans, the ship and commander involved, and Ainsley, on recommendation from Garrison, had gone over that exit plan with a fine tooth comb, making sure there were no little surprises possible in the interpretation. He demanded some changes that made the orders crystal clear to probably a very literal-minded five year old. All of the teams and independents pretty much did that now, to the consternation of the briefing officers at HQ, and not just with Captain Nelson and the Corinthian.

In having coffee in the officers' mess, Ainsley looked over the top of his cup at the sharply uniformed captain, ruefully aware of his own filthy shirt and trousers.

"So you're Captain Nelson. Heard of you. You're one lucky bas . . . uh, man, you know."

The Captain looked at him, puzzled.

"Well, heard you had a sitdown with the Dragon and survived it," Ainsley said with a grin.

"I had a meeting with the young woman and Major Richards, yes. I still do not understand why she felt she had the right to question my actions, or why Major Richards allowed her to do so. My orders were carried out precisely as I was given them." 

Ainsley gave a sharp laugh, shaking his head, seeing just how right the Dragon had been about this man.

"See, that's where you're lucky, Captain. That she DID question your actions, I mean; question your motives in leaving Garrison's team behind. That means she was willing to listen, be reasonable, consider you might have had some reason for your actions that she could, well, understand. That only happened, by the way, because the team was retrieved alive and with no more damage than they'd taken BEFORE you picked up Garrison. If it had been otherwise, no reason you could have given would have sufficed to appease her, and that's a position I would never want to be in."

"As it was, she was willing to listen, and as she's told me on more than one occasion, her mother always told her not to automatically attribute to malice that which could just as easily be attributed to military training. Well, she said her mother actually said 'could be attributed to stupidity', but after having worked with the military for this long, she thought the amendment worked quite well, there frequently being so much similarity, you know."

The Captain looked like he was about to have a stroke. Ainsley pushed back from the table, "well, thanks for the coffee. I'll tell the Dragon I ran into you; I know she'll be interested to know how you're doing. Once you've attracted her attention, well, she just never seems to forget; well, none of us in Special Forces tend to forget, you know."

And with a grin, Ainsley went back to his team, having coffee in the crew's mess. He spared a moment to think of the situation he and his team had just gotten out of, what it would have been like if Captain Nelson had decided to extract only Ainsley, leaving his team stranded in enemy territory. He knew he'd be keeping a close eye on Captain Nelson, and he would continue to recommend his fellow team leaders do the same. He thought the Dragon's mother was really a pretty smart lady, and the daughter, perhaps even smarter, but he didn't intend for his team to bear the brunt of that 'stupidity', not if he could help it.


	7. Do Not Covet That Which Belongs To Your Neighbor (No, Do NOT Take Goniff As A Role Model With That!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over, and those locals who'd had the means and inclination to flee to someplace safer are returning. Among those are two eighteen year old young women who have decided Craig and Goniff suit their tastes quite nicely. Alice Miller and Sheila Riley are left with explaining to them that maybe they'd be better off casting their eyes elsewhere, and when that doesn't work, having a very frank conversation with their mothers.

"And while they're mostly older, still ever so handsome they are, all of them, not British, of course, except for the one, but still . . ." they gushed, Miss Priscilla Danvers and Miss Lucy Masterson.

Alice Miller and Sheila Riley rolled their eyes and gave each other a long-suffering look. Alice knew the girls, had known them all their lives. Sheila had just made their acquaintance. The girls, cousins, had been taken out of the country by their families when the bombing had commenced, and had only recently returned now the war was over. Just eighteen, they were, perhaps sillier than some, perhaps just excited by the coming home and finding new male faces amongst the ones they'd remembered.

The two women, wife to the village constable and village doctor respectively, would have just let it be, let the enthusiasm wear itself out naturally, but it seems the Danvers chit had decided to single out Craig Garrison, and Miss Masterson, being a wee bit of a thing herself, thought to get to know Goniff much, much better! Somehow, neither woman thought the O'Donnell lass would like their plans, and they knew Goniff wouldn't be so pleased with Priscilla's plans for Garrison, nor Craig over Lucy's plan for Goniff. They couldn't see either man being interested in these girls, seeming to be most satisfied with things as they were, as well they should be, and while it was tempting to sit back and watch what just might be an amusing interlude, still, they didn't want the girls to be hurt either. They weren't being mean, just young and heedless.

"Well, you need to know, girls, neither of those men are free to accept your interest, nor to return it," Alice started. "The others, at least Casino and Chief, might be, though Actor, the tall dark one, I rather think he's unavailable as well."

Quick and earnest protests came from both girls, "but they're not married, Doby told us so; none of them are, not even attached to anyone!"

And Alice promised herself she'd see that both her husband Ben and Meghada heard of Doby trying to start mischief again.

"Well, Doby, you might not want to pay any nevermind to what he says; he likes to cause mischief, he does, and not above telling a wheedle, or as near like, in the doing."

The girls were coming on to a real pout now.

"You mean they ARE married? But they don't wear rings, and there doesn't seem to be any ladies down there, well, except for that Miss O'Donnell who seems to run the place, rather like a boarding house Doby says, and sometimes Miss Garrison, certainly no MARRIED ladies!"

Sheila had come to the realization that these two just weren't going to accept a mild hint-off, and she was getting a bit weary of the attempt.

"Priscilla, Lucy, The Cottages are a bit different that you are used to. They have their own ways. What YOU need to know is that Miss O'Donnell is going to think poorly of you trying for either Goniff OR Craig Garrison. They are both HERS, bound and sealed to her, the same as being married, they are. And neither of those two men are going to be looking elsewhere; they are totally committed to their relationship." While she was willing to stop mincing words on some level, she didn't think either of these two innocents needed to hear about the bonding between Goniff and Craig; well, unless THIS abrupt warn-off failed to get the job done.

She saw more than a bit of rebellion in their eyes, and she sighed, "you've seen the collar worn by Miss O'Donnell? Well, Craig Garrison wears a similar one, and Goniff, he wears two wristbands, not a collar, but it points out the bonding; in her culture, it's the same if not more than a wedding band, and they all three take it VERY, VERY seriously!"

When the two left, Sheila and Alice looked at each, "do you think they finally understand? Well, at least the easier portion?" Sheila asked.

Alice gave a polite, ladylike snort, "I rather doubt it, though it's more a matter of not WANTING to understand. We'd best have a word with Rosalind and Angela; as silly as those girls are, their mothers were always sensible women as I remember it. And a word to the Reverend, that a sermon on coveting thy neighbor's possessions, with an emphasis on wives and husbands and such, well, that might not be amiss either. And CERTAINLY Doby needs to be taught a firm lesson! Why we put up with him I sometimes wonder!"

An invitation to tea was sent to Rosalind Danvers and Angela Masterson, one eagerly accepted; the two had been well acquainted with Alice Miller, and had been well pleased with Sheila Riley when they'd met her on their return. It was halfway through tea that Alice and Sheila looked at each other and broached the subject.

That their daughters were intrigued by the men at The Cottages, particularly the two blonds came as no surprise; they'd heard the gushing ever since they'd returned. The women had agreed it was time they did some checking as to the eligibility of each of them, just in case things started looking serious. That those two were absolutely unavailable, was a surprise; and that they were both unavailable because of a permanent relationship with the SAME woman, that was a very real shock. That their daughters seemed intent on the pursuit even after the reality had been explained to them, well, that was also surprise, and a rather unwelcome one.

"You are sure they are both, well, both with her?" came as a reluctant question from Rosalind Danvers.

"Quite sure; it's well established, a permanent relationship on all parts, and they have no intention on changing that. All that can come of the girls chasing after them is a great deal of embarrassment, mostly for the girls, and we'd like to avoid that."

A slight frown on the pretty face of Angela Masterson preceeded her question, "and the village accepts this? What does the Reverend have to say?"

"The village is fine with it, with the exception of that troublemaker Doby, and him because they won't put up with his sneaking, gossping ways; he's the one who started this with the girls, by the way. Well, maybe not started it, the interest was there, of course, but it seems he's the one who saw their interest and assured them the men were all fancy free, no entanglements, which he knows quite well is a flat out lie! And the Reverend understands that others have different customs," came from Alice Miller.

Sheila Riley followed up with, "I've know the O'Donnells, the entire Clan, all my life, as did my parents and my grandparents before me. This is not unusual for them, and it is, truly, as committed a bond as our marriage vows; probably more, considering what I've seen of how lightly some seem to wear those!"

"The girls said something about collars and wrist bands, or some such thing?" asked Rosalind, both intrigued and skeptical.

Alice and Sheila looked at each other, deciding they needed to be flatly honest with these two women, in the hopes of avoiding trouble.

"The collar indicates one who's been Claimed as a permanent partner; the wristband indicates the Claimer, the, you might say, the head of the relationship."

"But, Priscilla says it's the smaller blond man who wears the wrist bands, two of them, and Miss O'Donnell and Mr. Garrison who wear the . . ." and her eyes grew big as the penny dropped, and a slight choking sound from her sister's direction showed she too had come to the realization of just what the relationships were down at The Cottage.

Rosalind and Angela looked at each other, totally out of their depth, but understanding that their daughters needed to be pulled into line, quickly.

"And the village really . . ."

"As I said, the village accepts this, understands Clan O'Donnell has its own ways. The Cottages and those that live there, they are a valuable part of the village; they all did well by us during the War; we are pleased they are here; they do us no harm and a great deal of good; they are good neighbors, a good half the village and surrounds has some sort of dealings with them that make the local economy one of the better around nowadays, they've come to the aid of those in need, brought to justice some we'd never have been able to deal with otherwise; we, the village, welcome them," came the firm answer from Alice Miller. "Doby, on the other hand, is and always has been, a pest and a troublemaker! I'll be having Ben give him another little talking to, and I imagine he'll be hearing from those at The Cottages as well!"

Rosalind nodded, firmly, "I'll be having a word with my husband and I expect Angela will as well; I don't appreciate that man trying to drag our girls into an unsightly embarrassment, just for his amusement!"

"Don't worry, we'll talk to the girls; they may not need to understand ALL of this; but enough to know if they intend to be chasing after married men, or those as good as, well, there's a private girl's school they just may be spending the next year in!" And the equally firm nod from her sister told Alice and Sheila that this situation was being taken in hand by the right people. Perhaps next time, they'd have Meghada join them at tea; perhaps it was time for that, for all she didn't do the pretty too often.


	8. Don't Assume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because you are a 'Man of Destiny' doesn't mean you can be sure what that Destiny holds, especially under the Hunter's Moon, the Blood Moon. When a self-proclaimed Man of Destiny elects to fulfill his Destiny through the deaths and suffering of a multitude of Innocents, a Dragon elects to help him reach his deserved Destiny. If they have a different vision of what that Destiny might be, well, that's not too surprising.

Hunter's moon. Blood moon. She watched it with fascination, remembering all the stories, the legends of this moon, things that happened under its red-tinged glow. Stories of the hunters, the hunted. Stories of blood spilt, successful hunts, failed hunts. Hunts in the name of survival, of love, of hate, and some, like this one, hunts in the name of - what? Humanity? She wasn't sure, she was only sure this hunt was something necessary, HER hunt, not something to push onto someone else's plate.

She breathed in the night air, letting her senses come alive, anticipating the ending of this hunt. It had been a long one, a dangerous one, and she was content now to wait for the ending. Her job, right now, was to wait. Her target was inside the building down there, involved in plots and plans, trying to make his mark on destiny. She'd heard he even talked that way 'making my mark on destiny'; well, he'd done that already. On the destiny of many, many people, hundreds anyway, maybe thousands, maybe even more. Touching their destiny with just a finger, pointing to a spot on a map and giving instructions. Touching their destiny with his eyes, his voice, walking down a line, picking one, omitting another, again and again til he tired of the game, and with a wave of his hand, committed the remainder to THEIR destiny. Touching their destiny by the flattery and encouragements given to the madmen he associated with, followed, led.

And while THEY were madmen, many of them, HE was not. He was simply a man, a man without any conscience, any sense of responsibility to his fellow man, a man without a soul, a man intent on making his mark on destiny. And she was simply waiting, breathing slow and even, waiting for the right time, waiting for the moment when she would make HER mark, on his destiny, perhaps on her own. Waiting. Sometimes that was your job; sometimes that was what was needed; after all, if you didn't wait, weren't there waiting, anything could happen. Anything could happen.

She continued to watch the moon, watch it ease its trail in the sky, but keeping a close watch on the building as well. The first flicker of movement, the soldiers now gathering quickly at the entrance, the car pulling around the corner, coming to a stop opposite the wide double door. She was already in position, rifle braced; that had been done hours ago, so that no unexpected motion, no flickering shadow could give the alert to those below, to those who most assuredly roamed these buildings and streets and the surrounding hills, protecting the man of destiny. The only movement necessary would be the tightening of her finger, and she flexed it a tiny bit, in preparation.

Those wide doors were opening now, swinging out, {"four in front are guards, the next three . . ."} She frowned - all three were alike enough to be brothers, too close alike to tell which was her man, too close alike for this to be a coincidence. {"How did they find two men who looked so much like him?"} She looked at the ones following those seven, seeing only shadows for faces; looked again at the ones in the front, the ones dressed in guards uniforms. If she made a decision too soon, without being sure, and was wrong, this was all wasted, and he'd be doubly on guard. If she waited too long, he'd be in that big car, off and gone, ready to make his mark once again.

{"There, that movement! That's what I've seen before!"} It was from one of the guards in front, and she peered more closely, {"yes, it could be, just maybe."} She felt herself tighten with tension, and forceably made herself relax. {"Think, watch, unravel what you are seeing, see with more than your eyes, see with your senses. Which IS the man of destiny?"} By now the men following were under the moon's light, and she eliminated them as possible targets, the body frames, the heights just being too different to be disguised. She let her mind drift with the feathery clouds crossing the night sky, {"the middle row, why are all three of them sweating like that? No conversation, like you'd perhaps expect after a productive meeting. No making eye contact. Just walking slowly, in step, almost as if they had a gun at their backs, some threat keeping them in line. If you could find two lookalikes, could you not also possibly find three? The guards in the front, the right pace, the right intent feel and focus. But . . . The one on the right, the one who made that little movement, there is something different, something off, something . . ."}

And, without her even making a decision, her finger squeezed that trigger, and she watched as the Man of Destiny met his.

{"Now, to get the bloody hell out of here before I meet MINE!"} as she wiped the rifle and threw it into the place she had chosen; yanked off the clothes and cap that disguised her, and was gone, into the night, under the Hunters Moon, the Blood Moon.

Later she thought, {"waiting is hard, but some things, they are worth waiting for."} She would have been surprised if anyone had told her just how many times she would tell herself that over her life.


	9. Who Must Do The Difficult Thing?  The One Who Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was so ill, that was obvious to them all, but they worried she'd make herself sick as well with her constant presence. She made no quarrel with someone else joining in her vigil, but never allowed anyone to replace her in that chair. She had left his bedside for only moments at a time, slept not at all, hardly even allowing herself to drowse. She knew they'd never truly understood her compulsion to stay at their bedside, then or in the past, to keep watch, never relaxing her attention. She didn't need them to understand; it was enough that SHE did, that they didn't try to force her away. It was a difficult thing she did, but to whom is it given to do the difficult thing? The one who can.

Tick,tick,tick,tick,tick. The ticking of the clock on the mantel was relentless. Thud, thud, thud. Her heartbeat was even more so, and that set up an echo in the pulse in her throat, in her ears. There was a drip in the bathroom sink; she'd never noticed it before, but now she couldn't shut it out. Drip, silence, drip, silence, drip. They were all measured, unlike the heartbeat, the breathing of the one in the bed in front of her. No, that heartbeat wasn't even, measured; it insisted on skipping a beat, far too often. And the breathing, it would seem to even out, even if still far too shallow, then, just like that, it would stop; just stop and she would lean forward frantically, holding her hand to his chest, urging him, "breathe, breathe, damn it!" And he would give a little gasp, and he would breathe again, and she would sit back, shaking, chilled even in this overheated room.

They urged her to come away, to get some rest. "You aren't doing any good putting yourself through this; we will stay, we will watch. Go get some rest." They didn't understand; if she left, anything could happen. She couldn't risk that, would never risk that. She didn't argue with them; she knew they meant well, it was just that they didn't understand, not really. She couldn't leave, if she left, anything could happen. Anything could . . .

Dr. Riley was in the kitchen, wearily tidying up his bag. "I'll stay, if there's a place for me. Sheila knows where to reach me."

They gratefully agreed, "the room next door, you can have that one. It's ready, just needs the covers turned back."

"No need for that; I'll just stretch out on top for awhile, pull a blanket over me. Call me if I'm needed."

"Doctor, can't you get her to come away, get some rest? She's been at this ever since the beginning; she's wearing herself down to nothing. We've told her we would sit, relieve her, that this is as much our fight as hers, but she won't hear of it."

And Dr. Riley, who'd known her since she was a child, through all the years in between, snorted. "And you thought she would? Just how many times have you seen this? With you, Casino, when that brawl at the pub left you with the broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Chief, when we thought we'd lose you to pneumonia. Actor, the stray bullet from that poacher that came way too close to your heart; Lynn, when Antonia was born and you lost consciousness and we couldn't wake you up. What about you, Craig? How many times has it been for you? And you, Goniff? She's spent more time at your bedside than would seem reasonable to me sometimes. And how many times perhaps, for many of you, when the hurt wasn't physical, nothing I could treat, nothing I was called in to treat, but something else? Now, now it's Randy, and she'll not be leaving him. As long as she is there, beside him, holding on, drawing him back if he drifts too far away, reminding him he is loved and wanted and needed HERE, well, she has to be there, doing that. If she left, anything could happen; she believes that; she knows that."

He clicked his bag shut, and looked at them, puzzled, as if wondering why they didn't understand. "It's not every time, you know, not every time one of you is hurt, is sick. Just certain times, and I don't know how she knows, but those times, she's needed. And at those times, she'll wait alongside for as long as it takes, til the need is past."

And each of them remembered that, now; her steady presence, her soft voice urging them home when their spirits were being pulled into the beyond, acting as their anchor, their lodestone, and they understood; well, perhaps didn't understand so much as accept, thankfully. In particular, that episode with Professor Craleigh came to mind, and several of them shuddered at what could have happened if she'd NOT waited alongside, not been willing to be that anchor, that lifeline.

And when the fever broke, and he was breathing slowly and evenly, his heart beating a regular smooth rhythm, when Dr. Riley smiled and nodded, letting them know the danger was past, she allowed her lads to pull her away; allowed Lynn to bathe her and get her put to bed.

"NOW will you rest??!" Goniff asked her, frightened by the paleness almost outdoing his own, the exhaustion in her eyes.

"Of course, laddie, now I'll rest. The waiting is over and done; but some things, some things are well worth waiting for," looking across the room at the cot containing the sleeping form of their son, crisis now past, mending on the way. "Well worth waiting for," and she sighed and let him and Craig pull her down between them, her to finally rest, to sleep, cradled in their warmth.

They were now the ones waiting, waiting, listening to the even breathing from their son, from their son's mother, from each other. Craig ventured a very small smile at the flaxen haired man to her other side, "well worth waiting for," and got an earnest nod in return, along with a quiet "ruddy well waiting for, is right!"


	10. Sometimes It's Hard To See The Forest For The Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, as Meghada discovers, when you've worked yourself to a standstill, you have to step back from the job at hand in order to get a fresh perspective, in order to allow yourself time for a fresh approach.

Damn it! It was just there; why couldn't she get it? Just out of reach, teasing her, tickling her, then dashing away! How frustrating! She tired of waiting for it to become more than dust motes in the corner of her eye, to become solid enough for her to grasp. She was on a schedule; needed to get things done. Overcome with the urgency to get the day started, to start actually accomplishing something, stop wasting her time waiting for something that didn't seem to be eager to happen, she huffed and got up and went to make a pot of coffee. Dawn would be coming soon, and the air had the promise of a fair, clear day. She had her day's work all planned out, all on a list on the kitchen table.

She gave a wry chuckle, talking to herself out loud, "those damned lists! I did fine without them, but oh no! 'Try it, sister. It can be ever so helpful, both the lists and the reviews. The lists of what needs to be done, could and should be done, might be done if time and energy hold out. If it's on a list, I can free my mind of trying to remember what's yet to be done; can focus on what I am doing NOW. The reviews of what was done, what was successful, what was not, what adjustments might be made before trying it again; those, if done the same day as you realise it, well, you don't have to work at remembering, regretting later that you didn't make the notes. I find it time well spent.'

"Well that is probably true for Caeide, with all she has to get done in a day's time, between the crops and the stock and the breeding and the stillroom and the dairy and all the other that she somehow manages to deal with. She has lists for the day, lists for the week, the month, the year. I've even seen five and ten year lists posted in the office, and I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't have others hidden away for farther down the road. But, I've just got the cottage, and the kitchen garden, and the flowers and shrubs and such, and an occasional mission, and training Max, and my writing, and the music, and the translating, and baking for Goniff, and trying to keep an eye on the lads, and . . ."

Now she laughed out loud, as she heard herself list out a life perhaps not nearly so strenuous as that of her older sister, but still one with enough moving parts that some organization did not go amiss, especially when you added Garrison's team into the mix.

"Still, sometimes I feel my lists are managing me, not me managing the lists. I'd hoped to get the beginnings of that tune, those words down before I started, but that didn't happen." She ran through the lists, seeing what was there, knowing she could count on them to keep her on track. She sighed, "well, I'll have my coffee, then get started. Maybe the music will try again some other day; it seemed a good piece; it's worth waiting for," and she poured out a cup and took it back to greet the sunrise. As she waited for the sunrise, leaving the lists behind her, her mind drifted and freed itself and time itself lost its meaning.

She blinked her eyes, wincing at the glare of the sun coming harshly from the west. "The WEST??" She glanced at her watch, and gaped at the position of the hands. "Two thirty, how did it get to be two thirty?" The last she remembered, the first rays of the sun were just showing, pink and lilac against that grey-blue of the horizon.

There in front of her was the cup of coffee, still almost full, stone cold, of course. Her pad of paper just as she . . . No, not just as she had left it; now, notes and lines and words, some in a deliberate hand, some scrawled hastily and unevenly, as if the inspiration was coming almost too quickly to be translated by her mind and fingers, page after page. She swallowed heavily, read through the music, the words again.

"Yes, that was what was there, waiting just off to the side, waiting." She looked down at the pad, then up to the clear sky above her. She knew sometimes you had to wait; if you didn't wait, anything could happen. Now she understood that, sometimes? Sometimes you had to wait, in order to LET something happen. And some things, they were worth waiting for, touching the music with her fingers, hearing it in her mind.


End file.
